


Waiting Room

by enemyfrigate



Series: Waypoints [3]
Category: Justified
Genre: Alcohol, Closeted Character, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-30
Updated: 2013-07-30
Packaged: 2017-12-21 20:48:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/904755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enemyfrigate/pseuds/enemyfrigate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 19 years as a Marshal, four years of adventurous college living, not to mention the 19 years before that of living in Harlan County, home of old fashioned eccentrics and old-fashioned criminals, Raylan Givens has not often been surprised.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Waiting Room

In 19 years as a Marshal, four years of adventurous college living, not to mention the 19 years before that of living in Harlan County, home of old fashioned eccentrics and old-fashioned criminals, Raylan Givens has not often been surprised.

Finding his alleyway hook-up from a few years back standing behind a desk in the Lexington Marshals office, with a deputy’s badge clipped to his belt, no less, is a big fucking shock.

The man from the alleyway gives him barely a passing glance as Raylan heads for Art’s office, and Raylan does not so much as give him a sidelong glance.

In Kentucky, Raylan Givens is no kind of queer.

 

Raylan knows when people want him. Men or women. Hell, he can always pick out the friendly dogs in a pack. That’s one of his strengths, and he plays it. Sometimes, it makes him feel downright cold hearted.

The thing with Boyd feels like that. Raylan sets out the bait – it’s not been uncommon in his working life to be the bait himself – and waits. And Boyd comes to him, as he has so many times before.

This time, he comes into a trap, where Raylan has already recruited Ava to be there at his back. A few glances, a promising kiss, the lack of any objection on his part to her advances -- just sucks her into his wake.

In the aftermath, of flashing red lights and Boyd choking for air as the hole in his chest tries to pull the life from his body, Raylan stands over him, and wonders if his hair would still feel the same under his hands.

 

Art assigns Raylan the desk next to Tim, separating them by only a thin glass panel. Raylan had not been certain that the young Marshal Art had introduced him to at the office had recognized him, and there’s too much going on with the bombing, and Boyd, to for him to think on it much.

After Raylan shoots Boyd, he finally ends up spending a work day at his desk, which means he’s stuck next to his Miami hook-up.

Raylan plays chicken with Tim until lunchtime, carefully staying at his desk when Tim is at the coffee pot, waiting for Tim to be on the phone before heading for the supply closet, waiting to take a piss until Tim is in Art’s office with Rachel. For his part, Tim seems to be avoiding him, beyond a perfunctory offer to get him coffee once when he gets up. It’s a small office, and ignoring each other entirely would be remarked upon.

When Tim goes out with Rachel to interview some leads, and Raylan rolls his shoulders, tension ebbing.

The paranoia of his younger days is coming back to him.

He just has to get through the next few months.

Raylan’s not sure just how much Beam or how many willing women it will take.

At the end of the day, Tim is waiting when Raylan heads out to the Lincoln Art had assigned him. The car looks like a Thoroughbred among stock horses, next to the big SUVs that make up most of the office’s motor pool.

Tim leans against the driver side of the SUV, across the Town Car from Raylan, looking at his phone.

Raylan means to ignore him. 

“I ain’t a queer,” Tim says, low voiced. Determined.

“Neither am I.” Raylan crosses his arms on the Lincoln’s roof. “Not here.”

Raylan notes that Tim’s got his jacket pushed back, exposing his sidearm. He has no doubt that Tim can beat him on a quick draw, given his background, though there’s no way he’d fire on a fellow Marshal. Still, Raylan takes the signal for what it is: don’t fuck with me.

Tim licks his lips, a quick, dart of his tongue. “Long as we got that clear.”

Despite his rep, Raylan does not actually spend his work day thinking about fucking. Here and there, like anyone, sure. But today he’s been trying to think of anything but, and failing, of course, so sex has not precisely been far from his thoughts. That simple act, the momentary sweep of Tim’s tongue and slight sheen of damp on his lips, ignites Raylan’s desire.

“Clear and loud.” Raylan steps back from the car, and works the key into the lock by feel. The door clunks open and he swings himself inside. “See you at the office.”

 

Raylan goes straight back to the long-term rental motel he’s crashing in. Looks clean, smells clean, has no suspicious bloodstains on the carpet. It’ll do. He won’t be here for long. Dan can never stay mad at him.

He stretches out on the bed in undershirt and shorts with a bottle of Beam and a glass of ice.

He can stand being in Kentucky if he knows it won’t be long; this hiatus being involuntary makes it even easier. Not like he chose to come back. Mind you, a lot of the outright choices he’s made in his life have not turned out so well in the end, but at least they were his choices and no one else’s. He can even just about admit to himself that his choices led to Winona’s discontent, though he draws the line at accepting responsibility for her affair.

Right now, Raylan is choosing to hide some things from the world, but he ain’t going to hide them from himself. In the privacy of this room, Raylan can give in.

That mouth, fuck, he wants Tim’s mouth around his cock.

Raylan shoves his undershorts down to give his cock room. He puts down the bourbon and stretches to get a bottle of lotion from his dopp kit, tossed on the bed just in reach. He slicks his hand with a few squirts from the bottle and spreads his legs. His cock is already heavy with blood and his balls tightening up. He moves his hand on himself, squeezing and massaging, thinking about Tim’s lips, the shocking heat of his mouth, the muscle of his tongue shaping around Raylan’s hard cock and outlining the head. Pictures pushing into the muscular tightness of his throat.

He moves his hand to his filled cock, thinking of what else he could get this Tim to do. Would Tim let him rough fuck his throat? Manhandle him with a fist in his hair? Would Tim let him pull out as he peaks and come all over his face?

Raylan can’t last anymore, his climax rushing through him like a bullet released from a gun. He comes into his hand with a choked ah!, his hips urgings, fucking into the air.

The thin motel pillows catch him as he sags back, and pants through the aftermath of a freight train orgasm. He wipes his come covered hand on his discarded shorts and tosses them toward the floor. Feels for his drink, and tips the remaining bourbon into his throat.

Hopes that this Tim Gutterson wants to hide his true nature as much as he himself does.

Otherwise, Raylan might not last out this Kentucky exile.

 

Raylan and Tim settle into a truce. By mutual – and completely unspoken – agreement they achieve a working relationship based on their complete ignorance of each other.

If Raylan sometimes thinks about Tim’s hands, or maybe Tim thinks about Raylan’s mouth on his cock (Raylan has been told he gives a damn fine blow job), no one would ever know.

Tim is playing a part with the Marshals, and Raylan applauds his role. He’s taken them all in with a show of fresh faced young soldier, eager and loyal and straightforward. He plays that role on Raylan too, and he’ll only meet Raylan’s eyes when he’s got that face on.

Raylan cannot forget, presented with Tim nearly at his side every day, that this is not the Tim who came to him in Miami, who got what he wanted and left him behind.

Raylan tries to bury that memory in Ava, until he feels like he’s acting as much a part as Tim.

He avoids Tim when he can.

 

Art pulls the whole office in his wake to a bar one Friday, after a case has kept them all scrambling into the early evening.

“Burgers, beers, and bonding, on me.” Art points to Raylan. “That means you, cowboy.”

Raylan and Tim are about to end up sitting next to each other, and Raylan steps back for a minute, pulls out his phone, so Nelson ends up between them. Catches a glimpse of the line of Tim’s neck, the top of his spine, and turns away, squinting at his phone like he’s checking his messages. Actually finds a text from Ava. Licks his lips, sends a fast reply: My place, two hours.

Tim bows out of the gathering before Raylan does.

“Supposed to meet the guys.” Tim throws a couple twenties on the table and stands up. That means other vets, Raylan has learned in the two weeks he’s been in Lexington.

“You safe to drive?” Rachel is barely into a second beer. Natural caution, Raylan suspects, rather than lack of a taste for it. He notes that Tim has no such caution, just like himself. Maybe because blending in takes a toll.

Raylan catches a sight of the rifle tattoo on Tim’s forearm and amends that. Maybe it’s the war, for Tim. He has to stop thinking like there’s some connection or similarity between the two of them.

He has to stop thinking about Tim walking away.

“Yes, ma’am. You want I should walk a straight line?”

“Go on, get out of here before someone cards you,” Art says.

Tim tosses off a crisp salute, and turns for the exit.

Raylan looks at his watch, as if he’s remembering something, and makes his goodbyes. “Meeting an old friend,” he says.

Art still gives him a look, he knows about Ava, which he wouldn’t if Raylan didn’t want him to , but he does not push it, and Raylan pushes through the door in time to see Tim light up a cigarette, standing under a streetlight, waiting to cross to the parking lot. Raylan slows his step, stays half a block behind him, but he doesn’t miss Tim’s last drag as he approaches his truck, the practiced flick of the butt onto the lot; and then Tim’s switch from the amble of the amiable new guy to the alert, confident stride of a predator.

Tailing Tim would be a bad idea. But Raylan thinks he knows where Tim is headed.

Lexington has all of three gay bars. Raylan has a rather powerful impression of Tim’s hunting style, and his first choice, the biggest and noisiest of them all, pays off. Tim walks around a corner, like he’s parked on some back street so his car will not be seen. He nods to a few men standing around the doorway, but does not linger and heads on inside.

Raylan sits in the darkened car, listening to his own breathing. If anyone asks, he’s working off a tip on a fugitive.

The trick to waiting is to never look at your watch.

Tim emerges from the bar, maybe a couple more drinks in him, his posture loose limbed with drink and pleasure.

Raylan waits until Tim disappears back around the corner and has presumably driven off before putting the Lincoln in gear and creeping away.

When Raylan gets back to the motel, he’s disappointed to see Ava’s truck still in the lot.

He’ll fuck her, but he’ll be thinking of Tim.


End file.
